


Forgotten

by SignCherie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/SignCherie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumple has amnesia and believes he is Mr. Gold, town pawnbroker and loan shark. Commission for RiskPig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cursed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiskPig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskPig/gifts).



It was the moment of truth. Gold grasped Bae’s cloak tighter around his neck. There was no reason this shouldn’t work. He would go find Bae, and the two of them together would return to Belle’s side. They would finally be the family he’d always hoped to have.

Gold took a breath and stepped over the line.

Nothing happened. Gold let his breath out shakily and turned back to Belle, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

And then the magic swept over him.

 

He was on a road in the middle of the forest. It was night, and it was chilly, and there was an unfamiliar woman standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly.

He couldn’t remember how he got here.

This couldn’t be good. Lord knew he had enough enemies in town. There were any number of people who might want to drag him out to the woods at night, away from all witnesses. He didn’t know what he’d done to this woman, but clearly some bit of business had offended her at some point. And now here he was.

It was strange, though. He knew everyone in town, and he’d never seen this woman before. He was sure. A face as pretty as hers couldn’t be forgotten. Not to mention that even with his crippled leg, she couldn’t have possibly dragged him bodily out here by herself. And wasn’t that his car over there? What was going on?

“Rumple?” the woman said hesitantly.

What on earth did rumple mean? “Who are you?” Gold demanded.

The woman’s eyes widened, and then her face fell as if he’d just told her that her dog was dead. For some unfathomable reason, Gold felt a twinge of guilt.

“You -- you don’t know?”

He scowled at her.

The woman recovered, setting her mouth into a determined line. “Try to think. Try to focus. You’ve seen me before.”

Gold opened his mouth to tell her that was ludicrous, but something made him stop. He’d never seen her before, he was sure of that, but when he looked into her eyes, the strangest feeling came over him.

“You know me,” the woman whispered.

Did he? Her eyes were so blue…

An image of the woman standing in a castle and wearing a beautiful golden ball gown flashed in his mind and was gone.

Gold shook his head. Clearly, he was losing his sanity. Best to take care of the matter at hand and go home.

“Please don’t waste my time, dear,” Gold said coldly. “Why have you brought me out here?”

The woman’s shoulders slumped, but she recovered quickly. Her voice, when she spoke, was strong and clear. “I’m surprised you’ve forgotten, Mr. Gold. You and I made a deal.”

Gold blinked.

“We agreed that you would help my father with a problem he was having if I came to work for you.”

That didn’t make any sense. Gold didn’t need or want an employee. And yet, for some reason, her words had the ring of truth.

“And just who is your father?”

“He’s known as Moe French. I understand he owes you quite a bit of money.”

Gold’s lip curled in distaste. The pompous man with his insignificant little florist shop had always rubbed him the wrong way. He ought to tell this woman that she was wasting her time.

He looked at her. Her eyes were very blue.

“I’ll expect you in my shop tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp,” he found himself saying. “And I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

A smile spread across those lovely features. “Thank you, Mr. Gold. You won’t regret it.”

She turned back toward the car.

“Wait a moment!”

The woman paused and looked back over her shoulder.

“You haven’t told me your name.”

She gave him a look that made his stomach flip. “Belle,” she said. “My name is Belle.”

 

 


	2. A Job to Do

It was 7:55 when Belle pushed open the door to Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. He was standing behind the counter, already watching her. Her stomach did flip-flops at the sight of him.

_Be professiona_ l, she reminded herself. _Be calm_.

She’d already allowed herself to cry over the loss of his memories, at home in the privacy of her own bed. She’d let it all out, all the pain she’d felt when he looked at her as a stranger, all the fear that she might never get him back. Now that was over. She had a job to do. For some reason, Rumplestiltskin’s spell had failed, and that meant it was up to her to set it right.

Still, it wasn’t easy to suppress the impulse to throw her arms around his neck, especially when he looked at her the way he was right now. Likely no one but her could see past the coldness he’d set up like a wall behind his eyes, but Belle knew him too well. She could see his vulnerability in the tightness of his grip on his cane, in the very slight tilt of his head.

She made him nervous. Well, that shouldn’t be a surprise. She’d made him nervous the first time around, too.

“Miss French,” he said, his tone detached, “I’m glad to see you are punctual.”

Belle closed the door behind her, then turned to face him. For a moment, they looked at each other. He didn’t seem to know what to say any more than she did.

A job. She was here to do a job. Belle cleared her throat. “I’ll make your tea for you, if you’d like, sir.”

He blinked at her. “I take it with --”

“Lemon and honey,” she said. “Yes, I know.”

She’d almost certainly surprised him now, to judge by the way his eyes widened. She walked quickly to the back of the shop, trying to ignore how his gaze was fixed on her the whole way.

She hoped he wouldn’t stare at her all day. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it -- knowing that Rumplestiltskin watched her had always sent her heart thumping -- but she had a goal today, and she couldn’t do it with him watching. She needed to find his potion recipe, the one that should have let him cross the line.

And steal it.

 

Having Belle around the shop made Gold damned uncomfortable.

He couldn’t say it was unpleasant, but it was most certainly awkward. He didn’t know what to say or how to act around her. He’d figured he’d probably spend most of the day teaching Miss French not to bungle his shop operations, but that proved completely unnecessary. Somehow, she knew how he liked things almost better than he did. And since he couldn’t reprimand her, he was at a loss for things to say. Should he talk about the weather?

She was charming and beautiful. She flitted about the shop, humming lightly, and the small, dark space seemed to light up.

How had he never noticed this woman before?

 

Nothing. It was five o’clock, and Belle had turned up nothing. She’d poked around every inch of the pawn shop, and there was no sign of the potion, or the cloak, or anything that could help Rumplestiltskin.

It had to be in his house, she supposed. His magic supplies would be in his basement. She could wait until he was asleep, then slip in through the basement window.

“Good night, Miss French.” Mr. Gold barely looked up from his ledger. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”

“Good night, Mr. Gold.”

So that was that. She ought to go home and wait for night to fall. There was nothing else she could do here.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Mr. Gold?”

He looked up in surprise.

“Have you ever had a hamburger?”

Something twisted in his expression. His brow furrowed.

Belle’s breathe hitched. For a moment, she was sure he was going to remember.

He shook his head once, just a small movement, as if to clear his mind. “Yes, of course,” he said.

“Well.” Belle tried to keep her voice even. “I hear Granny’s makes a great one.” She bit her lip and waited for his response.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but said nothing.

Belle suddenly felt ridiculous. He didn’t even know her. He wasn’t her Rumplestiltskin, only a cursed version of him. He didn’t know her. He had no reason to want anything to do with her.

She turned back to the door.

“Were you--” Mr. Gold’s voice surprised her. She looked at him over her shoulder. “Are you asking me to dinner?”

Relief flooded through her. Of course she hadn’t been rejected. Just misunderstood. True love was true love, and not even a curse could break that.

“Yes, of course I was.”

Mr. Gold nodded slowly. “Just let me get my coat.”


End file.
